Me:You’re already married.
Regan:Vow renewal / wedding reception / emotional hostage situation. Details don’t matter. You’re going.
I laughed despite myself, then typed back.
Me:No. I don’t feel comfortable. I barely know anyone.
Her response came in all caps.
Regan:YOU’RE GOING. I BETTER SEE YOU THERE.
I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly strained something.
Me:Bossy much?
Regan:Yep.
Three dots appeared.
Regan:All the girls are expecting you.
Then another message.
Regan:You can meet my hubby. And all the guys.
I knew better than to ask.
I asked anyway.
Me:Mason?
The dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Regan:Yep.
I stared at that one word longer than necessary.
The reservoir wind moved over my sweaty neck. Somewhere near the southern bank, a bird called once and went quiet. My sample bottles sat in the cooler, labeled and sealed. My field notes were halfway complete. I had dirt on my knees, sunscreen in my eyebrows, and a sudden, very inconvenient memory of Mason’s body under my hands on that motorcycle.
I put the phone facedown on the tailgate.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
By the time I made it back to my apartment, the samples had been dropped at the lab, my field notes were uploaded, and my shoulders had that dusty, sun-tired ache that came from doing actual work instead of slowly fossilizing under fluorescent lights.
It was strange how quickly a life could start to build itself out of small routines. Work truck returned to the county lot. Cooler cleaned. Boots kicked off by the door. Keys in the chipped ceramic bowl I’d found at a thrift store for three dollars. Judith the cactus still alive on the windowsill, which felt like a personal compliment. Bandit in the spare room, bell collar jingling faintly as he stalked from one end of his temporary kingdom to the other, furious that indoor life had come with walls.
He hissed when I cracked the door.
“Good to see you too,” I said.
His green eyes narrowed from the windowsill. He was living like a king now with a scratching post, three toy mice, a bag of expensive food, ear drops, medical records, and the tiny bell collar that made him sound like an angry Christmas ornament every time he moved. He had used the litter box, eaten all his food, ignored every toy except the crinkle fish, and still behaved like I’d ruined his civil liberties.
